


Come Find Me

by spookywoods



Series: Drarryland [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Light Angst, M/M, mentions minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: In case you believed me when we got drunk in Bruges: I lied. I do love you, I always did.





	Come Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> Position: 28 - Potions - Prompt G
> 
> "In case you believed me when we got drunk in Bruges: I lied. I do love you, I always did." ~~Choose either 1) ‘For your eyes only’ -OR- 2) ‘This message will self destruct’ -OR-~~ 3) Goodbye - Minimum: 268 words - Maximum: 658 words
> 
> Thank you to [hupsoonheng](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hupsoonheng) for the beta!

Draco sat, back rigid against the plush armchair, facing the window of his rented room. The bright sunshine almost stung his eyes as he lowered the parchment, trying his hardest to stare anywhere except back down at the words in his hands.

_In case you believed me when we got drunk in Bruges... I lied._

_I do love you._

_I always did._

_So this is me telling you the truth._

_Goodbye._

The coward didn’t even bother to sign the bloody thing. All Draco could bring himself to do was clench and unclench his jaw while he talked himself out of killing Harry Potter simply for lying to him. Draco knew that night in Bruges— _he knew _—__ Harry had fallen in love with him. He’d felt it in his bones, in every glance, every touch, every drunken whisper they’d shared under the hazy dim lights of that pub on the water.

No one had ever known Draco the way that Harry did, so instinctively, like they were two sides of the same coin. But Draco knew him just as well. That’s how he knew without a doubt that Harry’d gone to St Petersburg.

They’d all heard the news. Hudson Ains had been spotted in Russia—the man who’d killed Harry’s first partner.

As Harry’s third partner since Goldstein had been murdered, Draco knew more than anyone how loose of a cannon Harry had become. That’s why he’d been on desk duty—why they had been benched—why Draco had moved to Paris to be closer to his mother and find work with a partner who didn’t make Draco simultaneously want to slap his stupid face and kiss his stupid lips at the same time.

The most maddening thing about Harry Potter, Draco had found, wasn’t that he never combed his hair, or finished his own paperwork, or that he always rolled up his sleeves and left his robes hanging open. No, the worst thing about him was his unyielding compassion, his heart, his soul; the lengths to which he’d go for the ones that he loved, the depths that love could reach and consume him.

Goldstein was gone. Draco was the one there now. He bit his lip and rushed to the desk in the corner, scribbling out a note in the vain hope that it might reach Harry before he did something rash.

_If you love me then you’ll come to me._

_If you love me, you won’t go to Russia._

_Come to Paris, Harry._

_Come find me._

Draco used the Aurors’ emergency spell to give his owl haste.

He paced back and for twenty minutes before inevitably packing a satchel and apparating to the French Ministry’s Portkey offices. He knew Harry would never come, so he’d have to go after him.

No one said _Goodbye_ to Draco Malfoy unless he wanted them to.

 

* * *

 

“Draco?”

Harry dropped his bags and peered around the door.

The small studio was empty.

He took a deep breath and warmth permeated from his lungs to his core—the soft spice of sage and cauldron smoke. Draco’s scent.

_Come find me._

“Draco?”

Harry looked for any trace of him but found nothing. Perhaps he’d stepped out.

He decided to head down the street to the corner shop and grab some flowers. On his way back, he passed a newsstand and the _Prophet’s_ front page nearly made him stumble over.

 _From Russia With Love,_ it read. And underneath was a picture of a windswept Draco levitating a fully-bound Ains into a building. _Draco Malfoy Catches the American Serial Wizard Killer._

“Come to Paris, Harry,” he muttered, tossing the flowers aside and heading for the Portkey office.

Before he took a Portkey back to London, Harry penned a quick note and owled it to Draco’s studio.

_How was Russia? Paris was a bit too warm for my taste._

_I’m feeling more like Bruges this time of year._

_Come to Bruges, Draco._

_Come find me._

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for Drarryland Game/Fest. Go Rowandark!
> 
> Find me on tumblr.


End file.
